Torches flickered like agitated spirits around the darkened ramparts. The work of clearing the rubble continued without pause, and beside the frenetic activity, the corpses of soldiers clad in Burgos armor piled up like a gruesome hill.

As another survivor was hauled up from the depths, Melania brought her torch close to the figure’s face and let out a startled cry.

“Clark!”

He was caked in dust and blood, gasping for air with a wet, rattling sound. It seemed his breath might stop at any moment; the fact that he was alive at all was a miracle.

A healing mage immediately rushed over, grasping Clark’s hand.

“Is this Clark?”

“Yes, I’m certain. Clark, stay with us! Wake up!”

“Right below him! It’s an Imperial Guardsman! I see the dress uniform!”

“Pull! Heave them up!”

“One, two, three!”

Wakion, who was presumed to have been with Clark, was found curled into a ball, dead. It appeared he had met his end while trying to support the collapsing wall to protect Clark.

The mages groaned in sympathy at the tragic sight, watching from a distance as the Imperial Guard members approached the body.

“Haa…”

One by one, the guardsmen sank to their knees with deep, shuddering sighs. Of the five who had infiltrated the wall, three were dead. Bonita, Kanna, Wakion. And since no trace of Barsabe had been found yet, the toll remained uncertain.

Melania wiped the grime from Clark’s face, her eyes taking in their silent mourning.

Grip.

Suddenly, Clark snatched her wrist. His eyes were still squeezed shut, but his lips moved, spilling frantic, disjointed words.

“In Burgos… there seems to be… a puppeteer…”

“Clark! Don’t speak, just focus on breathing.”

“Beric went to find… and, at the Gypsy’s Gill… Toolun… heard the language… please tell them…”

“I said don’t speak! Mana injection starting! Hold on!”

“Kuh-heuk! Ughhh…”

Ziiing! Woong!

Veins in Clark’s neck bulged as he let out a pained groan before fainting, consciousness slipping away entirely.

Is he alright? Melania looked back at the healer with worry. Fortunately, the treatment seemed successful, as relief slowly washed over the mage’s face.

“I see the foundation of the wall! We seem to have extracted all the buried personnel. Shall we continue the operation?”

As the soldiers waved their torches to signal, the eyes of the Imperial Guardsmen sparked with a sharp light. The bottom of the wall was visible, yet Barsabe’s body had not been found. What did that imply?

“It is certain. Barsabe is pursuing Rutherford.”

“Lord Ian! Commander Jeirutt!”

“I’m here too, why leave me out?”

“Beric, have you been drinking?”

“A little. Is that… Wakion?”

“…Yeah. It turned out that way. He went ahead to find glory first.”

“He was going to go eventually anyway; he could have taken his time.”

While Beric muttered his grim farewell, Ian climbed over the pile of rubble in light attire. Soldiers who initially wondered ‘Why is a child here?’ recognized him and hurriedly took off their caps to bow.

On one side, the corpses stacked like firewood had reached a considerable height.

“You all worked hard until late. Soldiers who labored to clear the wall may receive liquor and meat, and you are permitted to sleep in until late tomorrow morning. Leave the bodies as they are and withdraw.”

“Oh my, thank you!”

“Withdraw! Withdraw! Stop digging!”

“Soldiers, come this way for rations! The liquor and meat are still warm, it’s good!”

“I thought the smell of blood would kill my appetite, but liquor changes everything! Thank you!”

As the soldiers lined up and moved away, Beric discovered the puppeteer amidst the pile of corpses. He nudged the body gently with the tip of his boot, and it flopped sideways, limp and lifeless.

“Ian, this is the bastard. The pervert who was playing with dolls during a war. Look.”

“That is definitely Toolun attire. This man isn’t from Burgos; he’s a reinforcement sent from Toolun.”

“Something similar happened in Bariel before. That dried-up fairy corpse.”

Ian thought for a moment before speaking.

“Commander Jeirutt.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“When assessing Toolun’s military strength, information regarding these puppeteers will be essential.”

“Yes, I will keep that in mind.”

Jeirutt bowed his head at a sharp angle.

Minister and Commander—there was a clear difference in rank, but since they belonged to different departments, Jeirutt had previously maintained only basic courtesy.

But what of his greeting now? It was imbued with a respect that went far beyond protocol. The Imperial Guardsmen suddenly recalled that the events of the afternoon were not a dream.

The same went for the mages.

Ah, right. He said he was an Emperor from the future.

I still can’t get used to it. Good grief.

An Emperor with that face. Hmm. How unfair.

“Did you find any specific traces during the search?”

“Ah, no, Lord Ian. The cliff near the rear gate is so steep that it wasn’t easy to examine closely, but putting that aside, there were no traces left by Barsabe.”

“It is certain Barsabe has set out in pursuit, but we cannot follow her now. The only choice left to us is to rest our bodies and minds to maintain peak combat readiness. It is a tragedy, but we have lost several great warriors of the Guard in this battle. This issue is directly connected to His Imperial Majesty’s safety. Tonight, lay down all your burdens and rest deeply.”

Ian nodded to Jeirutt, signaling him to handle the cleanup, then called the mages together. As if they had been waiting, they scampered over and surrounded Ian.

“What of the Burgos messenger?”

“Yes, captured without issue.”

“Well done. We will rewrite the message after consulting with the representative of the Aguiar residents. A mage will take the role of the messenger, so it would be best for the fleet-footed Tommy to go.”

“When you say rewrite the message, what content do you have in mind?”

“It will mainly state that Aguiar has fallen and that the civilians, guaranteeing their safety, cooperated with Bariel and lowered the flag themselves. It will convey the hope that the southern cities will also open their gates and avoid shedding blood in vain.”

“The next city closest to Aguiar is close enough for a round trip in half a day. Just in case, may I equip Dera-tribe weaponry?”

“Of course. Safety comes first.”

“…Um, but Lord Ian!”

Whoosh!

As Ian walked slowly while flipping through documents, the mages spread their arms and blocked his path. Why were they doing this? When Ian looked up in puzzlement, the mages’ eyes wavered in the torchlight.

“Lord Ian, y-you are the Emperor, are you not?”

“I am. Though it is a matter of the distant future.”

“Then… what happens now? Lord Ian, can you remain in the Imperial Palace?”

Now that the master of the palace was determined, they worried that his existence—simply by sharing the bloodline—would make him a target of suppression.

Furthermore, Ian hadn’t just inherited the blood; he had ascended to the throne. His fate depended entirely on how Emperor Jin accepted this fact, so the mages waited for Ian’s answer with expressions taut with tension.

Smack!

“If Lord Ian isn’t in the palace, then where? Should he go to your house? Cut the bullshit and go get some rest.”

“Aack! Captain Akorella!”

“Ugh, the smell of booze. What is this? Were you drinking while we were working? Beric’s face was red earlier, too.”

“Today is a day where that’s allowed, you know-nothing adorable brats. Come on, anyone who doesn’t rest, I’ll take your enthusiasm as consent to invite you to a live dissection experiment.”

“Why does the conclusion land there? A-Anyway, it’s a relief Lord Ian is fine. Lord Ian, what we wanted to say is… no matter who you are, we will trust and follow you. So—”

The mages grasped Ian’s hands cautiously, but with a firm, desperate grip. It was a gesture that revealed just how much they must have discussed this amongst themselves in his absence.

Ian looked down at their trembling hands and let a smile bloom on his face.

“So, please continue to take care of us.”

“We are in your care! We will be with you.”

“But Lord Ian. What about your body? You were injured.”

“Without Lord Ian, the Ministry of Magic becomes a doghouse. Just look at Captain Akorella—Aack! Don’t do that!”

“Just look at me and what? Keep talking!”

“I’m sorry! Aaaagh! I apologize!”

While the mages tangled together in laughter, Ian noticed the gazes lingering in the darkness. Eyes stiff with the terror of death. They were the residents of Aguiar.

The night was deep, but they merely huddled by the roadside, enduring. Their homes were half-destroyed or completely collapsed; they had nowhere to return to.

“Hale.”

“Yes. Lord Ian.”

“Hurry and bring the representative of the Aguiar residents. We must reach an agreement with him to resolve the issue of rebuilding the city. And tell the soldiers to serve them warm food. The amount of blood shed in the next battle will be determined by how we treat them now.”

If they could secure Aguiar’s full cooperation, several cities might fall without armed conflict, which meant sparing a significant amount of the soldiers’ blood.

Hale nodded and went down first, and Ian looked up at the pitch-black night sky.

No moon, no stars. Of all times.

It would be a terribly difficult night for Barsabe, who was out there chasing the enemy.

Ian turned away, praying for her safe return.

***

“Haa, haa.”

Rutherford, that son of a bitch. Barsabe muttered curses between rough breaths.

The collapse of the wall following the sudden explosion at the ‘Gypsy’ had happened in the blink of an eye. Toxic smoke had poured down like blades toward her, as she had been closest to it. If Bonita hadn’t blocked it for her, she would surely have died…

Captain Bonita, is she dead?

Leaving only the order to pursue Rutherford, Bonita had deflected the falling debris and tumbled away with the black-armored soldiers. Barsabe’s body had followed the command reflexively, but tears flowed endlessly, for it felt as though she had abandoned her captain to flee.

Barsabe wiped her eyes with the back of her left hand and looked down.

I’m fucked.

Below the sheer, violently cut cliff, Barsabe was hanging on by holding onto a rock no bigger than a fist. Pursuing Rutherford meant facing multiple magic swordsmen guarding him. Honestly, taking on that many alone was impossible, so she had just been quietly tailing them.

She had hidden herself because she thought they might sense her, but now she was in this wretched state.

It’s too dark below to gauge the height, and there are no footholds to climb back up.

It felt like she had been hanging there for nearly an hour. Barsabe alternated strength between her right and left hands, agonizing over how to break out of this situation.

Then, a faint voice drifted from somewhere.

A human voice.

Where is it?

Over there? If there were people nearby, it had to be Rutherford or his close associates.

In the complete darkness, Barsabe focused all her senses on her fingertips to find protruding rocks. Then, secretly and cautiously, reducing her presence to the absolute minimum, she maneuvered sideways along the cliff face.

“…No issues?”

“A little time… yes… takes…”

She could hear it. The closer she got, the clearer the voices became. It was clear they had settled right above her, on the cliff edge. Barsabe pricked up her ears, even holding her breath.

“How long?”

“Since we fought the Bariel mages earlier, our mana consumption was significant. Won’t it take at least three days?”

“I thought you said there was something to recover mana.”

“We used all we had on hand, and the rest is inside the wall. Please wait just three days. We will open a portal and escort you to Ruswena.”

That was Rutherford’s voice.

And judging by the context, the other person was a mage from the Ruswena side. Including the magic swordsmen, it seemed like a group of elites, roughly ten to twenty strong.

If she was caught, she was dead.

“We must go to Toolun.”

Then, a rather unpleasant voice spoke up.

Barsabe furrowed her brow. A foreigner? The pronunciation was slurred, and the voice sounded particularly grating, like tearing silk.

“Since we lost Lord Bagban, there is no reason for us to remain here any longer. We will report to the King and discuss our next move.”

“King? That man in Toolun?”

“Watch your tongue. He is our King.”

Barsabe rolled her eyes, committing every word of their conversation to memory. She would take it all back, down to the last syllable.

She held her breath and looked up toward the top of the cliff, which had suddenly gone silent for some reason.

“……!”

Rutherford, his long hair hanging down, was peering over the edge, looking straight down. Thanks to the darkness, he didn’t seem to have spotted Barsabe immediately, but he had definitely sensed something amiss.